


Guile

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [111]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>guile: noun: ɡīl: sly or cunning intelligence.</p><p>Middle English gile, from Anglo-French, probably of Germanic origin; akin to Old English wigle divination; Google also suggests an Old Norse word, 'vel' = craft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guile

**Author's Note:**

> Been having interesting conversations today, both online and in person regarding the Special, and I realize I like to write my Sherlock and John fluffy, though I know even in the ACD canon, Sherlock was never intended to be that way; and I know Season 4 will probably end in tears, knowing Mofftiss, but I will continue to have my fluffy way with them, even as I have conversations with myself. So, here is a bit more fluff. :)

John was always amazed by how many masks Sherlock wore while out in the world. He needed little make-up if he decided to disguise himself, for the occasional case or simply to wander London unnoticed- it was more a change of posture, expression and personality than any added elements. At times, John had to swallow an outright chuckle as he observed the easy guile his friend used to sweet talk a witness or confuse a suspect into a confession.

But within the confines of their flat, his persona was hung up with his Belstaff and his blue scarf; the need to impress and shine morphed into the quiet assurance of someone who was loved deeply and loved in return. John would arrive home after a shift to find him meditatively kneading bread dough or stirring a sauce, only pausing when John wrapped his arms around his slender waist.

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm yourself. Smells good."

"Just trying to recreate my grand'mere's recipe..."

"Any cases?"

"A couple of fours from the blog comments, nothing to wear the Belstaff for."

"Shower?"

"Hmmm, yes, the bread needs to rise for an hour..."

They would take their time undressing the other, then Sherlock would lead him into the steamy room, and slowly remove the stresses of the day. He would lovingly wash London's grime and grit from his blogger's skin until John's legs would give way, and Sherlock would catch him in his strong arms.

"Shhh. I have you, love."

John would look up through waterlogged lashes and see not the brilliant deducing machine that could bring the Prime Minister to his knees; but the gentle, warm and all too fallible human being who took his breath away.

"Dinner will be ready in a bit, just have to put the bread in the oven, and cook the pasta, yeah?"

"Mmmm. Just stay here a minute longer?"

"As you wish."


End file.
